


One Night at Winterfell

by MidtownKitten



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:30:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidtownKitten/pseuds/MidtownKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Westeros finally at peace (for now), Brienne and Jaime's paths cross once again at Winterfell for a night they will never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night at Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot and my first attempt at fanfic, comments are welcome!

Brienne stared at her reflection in the mirror for a long time. She looked strange to her own eyes. The gown she wore felt heavier than any armor, while the tightly laced corset underneath made it harder still to breathe, let alone move about freely. The sleeves were too short, the bodice ill-fitting, the neckline obscenely low. _An elephant dressed like a peacock_ , she thought. _How perfectly fucking ridiculous._

“This is a mistake,” she muttered, turning her back on the creature in the mirror - just in time to see the chamber door open and a pale face peek in.

“My lady,” Brienne began, “I appreciate your gift, truly I do… But I don’t think I can go to the banquet dressed like this.”

Sansa Stark, now Lady of Winterfell, walked into the room and inspected Brienne more closely. A small frown creased her brow which she quickly smoothed over and replaced with a thin smile.

“Don’t be silly, you look… just fine,” Sansa said. Brienne was about to protest further when the younger woman took her hand and said, “Please, Brienne… After everything you’ve done for me, for my family - you don’t have to protect me anymore. I just want everything to be normal again. Is that too much to ask?”

Brienne saw the pleading in Sansa’s eyes and felt again the rage bubble up inside of her when she thought of what the girl must have endured at the hands of that sadistic bastard Ramsay. And now with Sansa restored to her rightful place as heir to the North, while the Mother of Dragons, as she was known, sat on the Iron Throne, there seemed to be something of an uneasy peace in the Seven Kingdoms. It was a peace well deserved by young Sansa, who had already experienced far too much pain for someone of her tender age. So if it was a normal life she wanted, Brienne made up her mind that she could endure the trappings of normalcy - at least for one night.

"No, my lady,” Brienne replied. “It’s not too much to ask at all. Forgive me - I’m not accustomed to dressing this way is all.”

A knock on the door followed by much whispering and giggling interrupted the conversation.

“What is it?” Sansa called out.

“Lady Sansa, the guests are arriving! Yes, they’re here! They’ve brought gifts!” The answers came in chorus from Sansa’s chambermaids. “You must come and greet them! They’re asking for you!”

“Will you come down with me?” Sansa asked Brienne. “You are a guest of honour at tonight’s feast after all.”

Brienne knew all eyes would be on Sansa tonight and the idea of lumbering into the banquet hall alongside the graceful Lady of Winterfell was not one she wished to see realized.

“Please go ahead, my lady,” Brienne replied. “Your guests have waited a long time to see this day - don’t keep them waiting any longer. I’ll be down soon enough.”

Brienne paced the room for several minutes after Sansa had gone. She could hear men singing in the courtyard, could hear their shouts and their laughter - laughter, she had no doubt, that would be directed at her a good deal tonight.

 _Let them laugh,_ she thought, lifting her chin defiantly. _Since when do I give two shits what they think of me? Besides, I could beat any one of them in a fair fight._

Sansa may have thought she was finally safe - and maybe she was - but Brienne was loathe to let her guard down. Experience told her that things could change for the worse at any moment and she had sworn an oath to protect the Lady of Winterfell - whether the Lady wanted that protection or not.

With her mind made up and her courage mustered, Brienne swung open the chamber door and made her way towards Winterfell’s grand banquet hall, her stomach churning as if she was about to go into battle.

 _I faced a fucking bear,_ she thought. _How much worse can this possibly be?_

And with that, she entered the fray.

 

*****

 

 _By the Gods, being eaten by that damn bear might have been a better fate than this,_ Brienne thought grimly, as she forced herself to stand and greet yet another well-wisher. Whether it was Lord so-and-so, or Keeper of such-and-such lands, their names and titles all blurred together. But the looks they gave her - the poorly concealed contempt as they took her too-large hand; the leering or snickering as they eyed her up and down before walking away - these stayed with her in vivid, humiliating detail.

The sounds of an argument in the courtyard caught Brienne’s attention and she instinctively moved to draw a sword that wasn’t there. There was some kind of commotion happening at the back of the Banquet Hall and Brienne could feel the tension rising in the gathered crowd as the energy in the room became palpably hostile.

She had purposely chosen to sit as far away from everyone else as she could, but as she watched Sansa hesitantly rise from her seat at the head of the banquet table, she desperately wished she had stayed close by the girl’s side.

“Sansa, wait!” Brienne called to her, but she was already making her way towards the scuffle. Brienne started after her - and immediately tripped on the long skirts of her gown, tumbling awkwardly to the floor.

“Are you alright, ma’am? I mean sir! I mean.. Ma’am!”  Looking at the boy reaching down to help her up, Brienne wasn’t sure which of them was more embarrassed.

“I’m fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth, ignoring his outstretched arm and standing on her own. Hiking up her skirts, she elbowed and shoved her way to the front of the crowd, now on its feet and shouting.

“Kill him! Chop off his other hand! Better yet, chop off his balls!”

Brienne only saw Sansa at first, in a circle of angry men, staring at the ground with a blank expression on her pretty face. Then she followed Sansa’s gaze and froze. It was Jaime. He was flat on his back, obviously having been knocked to the ground, and was slowly getting up, his sharp eyes evaluating the situation, assessing the level of danger he might be in.

A small figure pushed past Brienne and stood in front of Jaime. “The Lannisters have immunity, as you all know!” he shouted. “We have a pact with Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!”

“She’s not queen here!” someone shouted back and other voices were quick to rise in agreement.

“Maybe not,” the imp replied, “But I’m fairly certain her dragons don’t know that.” To Sansa, he said, “We’re not here to cause any trouble. We’re on our way to the Wall and just need a place to sleep, maybe something to eat if you can spare it.”

“They can sleep outside with the other animals!”

“The Kingslayer can eat my arse!”

Suggestions from the crowd came flying forward, half joking but laced with menace nonetheless.

“You have always been kind to me, Tyrion,” Sansa said. “Even when you had no cause to be.” She shifted her gaze back to Jaime and said, “We have all lost so much. What is there to do but go on?”

Summoning an authority Brienne hadn’t known the girl possessed, Sansa held up a slender arm and in a voice that carried throughout the hall said, “These men hold no power here and they are no threat to us. They have the hospitality of Winterfell for one night and will be on their way at dawn tomorrow. Leave them be.”

Sansa returned to her place at the table, the musicians took up their tune again, and the crowd dispersed, not without a good many choice words for the Lannisters in their midst.

 _Sansa is safe, go sit down,_ Brienne’s mind screamed at her, but she remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the gleaming golden hand she now saw affixed to Jaime’s arm. When she had seen him last, there had been only a mangled stump.

  _My name is Jaime._ She could still hear his tortured whispers as she had held his naked, broken body against her own in the rising steam of the baths at Harrenhal. He had been so fragile then, so lost, and yet still capable of cruelty. He had looked at her with… Scorn? Gratitude? Disgust? Desire? Or perhaps all at once.

“Brienne of Tarth,” the imp’s voice cut into Brienne’s thoughts. “I believe we’ve met once before. I forgot you were so...Tall. Jaime tells me you saved his life. We are in your debt and Lannisters always… Well, you know how it goes.”

“There is no debt between us,” Brienne said to Tyrion, all the while painfully aware of Jaime’s eyes on her. “There is… nothing between us.”

A too-long pause followed, until Tyrion at last broke the silence with, “Glad it’s all settled then. Now, if you’ll excuse us, near death experiences always make me dreadfully thirsty. Lead on, brother - and this time, try and keep your mouth shut.”

A hint of a smile played on Jaime’s lips as he walked past Brienne. She stood as tall as he, and when he paused to turn to her, they faced each other eye to eye.

“You look well, Brienne,” he said.

“As do you, Jaime,” she replied.

There was nothing else to say - or perhaps too much to say - but he held her gaze nevertheless and against her will, Brienne felt her face grow hot and her heartbeat quicken. She turned abruptly and retreated towards the Banquet Hall doors. No sooner was the night air biting her bare skin, than Brienne was chiding herself for running away like a silly schoolgirl. She had never been one to back down from a fight, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow entering a battle she was destined to lose.

 

*****

 

Brienne tossed fitfully in her bed. The carousing in the courtyard had gone on for hours and seemed only to be getting louder. When the first small rock hit her chamber window, she willed herself to ignore it, but when it was followed by a second, then a third, then an egg, she had had enough.

Flinging open the window so that the cold air rushed in, nearly outing the small fire she had left burning to try and keep warm, Brienne stuck her head outside and yelled, “Go to bed, you bloody drunkards!”

“Only if you come down and join us, fair lady!” someone responded in a voice thick with drink and sarcasm. “Or maybe you would prefer if we came to you? Although if your cunt’s the same size as the rest of you, it’s going to take all of us at once to fill you up!”

Brienne slammed the window shut, threw her overcoat on and angrily laced up her boots. _So they want me? They can have me,_ Brienne thought. She would make short work of these idiotic boys and send them limping back to their beds. With her knife tucked into her trousers and her sword sheathed at her waist, she barged down the winding stairs, turned a corner, and seeing an open gate, marched outside - onto a deserted terrace.

Brienne spun around, trying to get her bearings. Winterfell was such a maze, she realized she must have made a wrong turn and although she could still hear the boys making their crude jokes, their voices seemed more distant and she had half a mind to forget them and go back to bed.

“I hope you’re not here to kill me.”

“Who’s there?” Brienne called, her sword instantly drawn and pointed in the direction of the voice that spoke to her from the shadows.

A low laugh came in response, followed by, “Or if you are, at least let me finish drinking first.”

“Jaime?” Brienne moved closer to the figure sitting against the terrace wall in a corner dimly lit by a dying lamp. “What are you doing out here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he replied, holding up a wineskin for her to see. “I’m taking my brother’s advice and getting drunk. Care to join me?”

Brienne studied him a little closer, squinting to make him out clearly in the dark. “What happened to your gold hand?” she asked.

“What happened to your lovely dress?” he shot back.

Brienne stiffened at his mocking tone. “It wasn’t a good fit,” she replied.

“I could say the same thing,” said Jaime, suddenly on his feet and approaching Brienne. “Tell me something, do you ever think about the time we spent together?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” questioned Brienne, her defenses still raised. She thought about it all the time.

Jaime shrugged and wandered past her to where the terrace narrowed into an alcove overlooking the bleak terrain of the North. Despite his crippled state, he still moved with an easy grace, a certain confidence only afforded to the beautiful or to the very rich. Jaime, of course, was both.

“I think about it,” he said, leaning on the alcove’s stone rail. “Or rather, I dream about it. I dream about lying in my own filth, chained up like an animal.. But whole. Then I wake to find I’m safe in my bed but…” He held up his stump, now healed, but still terribly scarred. “I dream of you sometimes,” he continued. “You battling your way out of every ambush we encountered along that godforsaken road, even outnumbered and outmatched.”

“I was never outmatched,” Brienne interrupted, but Jamie was undeterred.

“You brandishing a wooden sword against a bloody bear. Your voice cutting through the worst pain I had ever known, telling me to live. I kept going because of you. You saved my life more than once where most others would have relished watching me die.”  

Brienne sheathed her sword and came to stand next to him. “You took a risk for me more than once too,” she said. “I still don’t know if jumping into that bearpit was the stupidest or the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. And that Sapphire Isle story you fabricated? It was a gamble and if it hadn’t worked, they would have killed you and would have… You know what they would have done to me. I only saved you from death. You saved me from a fate much worse.”

They stood together in silence for some time, until Brienne turned to him. “Jaime -” she began, but was cut short when his head dipped to brush her lips with his. So startled was she that she fairly jumped away from him. She watched as a pained expression crossed his face, quickly masked by something colder.

“Do I disgust you?” he asked her with a humorless smile. “Tell me, which part of me do you find most revolting - the part that murdered a king or the part that fathered three children with his sister? Or is it this?” he pressed her, thrusting his stump into her face. “I should have known even you would decline to be defiled by the likes of me.”

“Even me?” Brienne whispered. “Even a beast like me? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, even you,” he spat at her, backing her up against the alcove wall. “We don’t get to choose who we love. I told you that once and I told Myrcella that before.. Before she.. “ Jaime’s voice broke and his face contorted with an agony that tore at Brienne’s guarded heart. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek and see the unshed tears in his eyes.  

“We don’t choose who we love,” Jaime repeated. “And we don’t choose who we want. And gods help me, Brienne, I want you. Whatever you are, whatever I am, I want you. And I believe you want me too.”

Brienne’s head was spinning. Were his words a trick? A cruel joke? And if they were not, what then?

“Why are you saying these things?” she asked.

“Because they’re true.”

“They’re not true! You don’t want me, nobody wants me. Not like that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer to her still, so that she could feel the hardness through his pants. “I can still see you in my mind, rising up from the baths like some mythical creature. I have imagined taking you so many times.”

He kissed her again, more forcefully this time; a kiss that demanded things she didn’t know how to give. She broke away from him, swimming in a sea of conflicting sensations. “You don’t have to love me,” he told her. “You can keep your heart safely buried with a dead man. It’s only your body I want and only my body that I offer in return - what’s left of it anyway.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never… I don’t know how to… “ Brienne fumbled for the right words as she struggled to hold back the tidal wave of shame that threatened to wash over her.

It took a few moments for Brienne’s meaning to fully register, but when it did, Jaime looked dumbstruck. “Seven hells, Brienne - do you mean to say you’ve never been with a man?” He had teased her about that once, but hadn’t thought it might actually be true.

Brienne gave a rueful laugh and said, “Is that so hard to believe? As you said, we don’t choose who we want… Or who wants us. The world isn’t kind to those of us who are different, Jaime. Your brother could probably tell you a thing or two about that.”

“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known,” Jaime said. “You’re a better fighter than most men. And a better friend. So yes, you are different. And my statement still stands. Whatever you are, whatever I am, I want you.” Then holding out his hand to her, he said, “And I believe you want me too.”

Brienne looked at Jaime’s outstretched hand, then at his face. There was a weariness there, but also a warmth and a strength. She took a deep breath and put her hand in his.

 

*****

 

Jaime stoked the fire in Brienne’s chamber until it crackled brightly, casting the room in a warm glow. With their boots and overcoats tossed aside, they faced each other like opponents about to duel. Jaime struck first, reaching out to undo the buttons of Brienne’s tunic.

“What are you doing?” she asked, taking a step back.

Jaime’s concentration remained focused. Buttons were a task better suited to two hands. “I’d like to undress you,” he replied.

Brienne nodded curtly. “Right. I can do it myself,” she said, quickly removing her tunic and trousers, leaving only her thin, white undergarments which left little to the imagination. “What next?”

Jaime laughed and said, “Seeing as you are clearly better equipped than I, perhaps you’d like to undress me?”

“Right,” Brienne said, although she was slower to comply. Jaime’s arms went up and she pulled his shirt over his head to reveal his broad, muscular chest and lean torso. And his scars. So many scars. She ran her fingers over them lightly. Some she recognized, some she did not; some she mirrored on her own body; and some were his alone. Her hands found their way to his belt buckle and in the blink of an eye, he stood before her, naked and radiating heat.

He sought out her mouth, but she stood rigid, her eyes on the door, still half believing it was all an elaborate ruse, that he had friends ready to burst in laughing at any moment. It had happened to her before.

 _Jaime is different,_ she reminded herself. _He’s a Lannister. He has no friends._

He shifted his mouth to her neck and pulled her in closer, ridding her of her remaining clothes as they moved together towards the bed.

“Lie down,” he told her, his lips against her ear, his tongue flicking her earlobe.

Brienne lay back on the bed, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts.

 _What will he do next?_ she wondered. _What does he want me to do?_ Brienne realized that despite living most of her life among men, she knew nothing of them, except how to fight them, how to fend off their forced advances, and how to forget their cruelties.

As if reading her mind, Jaime smiled as he ran his fingers down the length of her body, until he came to kneel at the foot of the bed. “If it’s any consolation to you, I’ve never made love to a woman one-handed.” He parted her long legs and said, “So, it’s a first time for both of us,” before burying his head between her thighs.

Brienne was not a woman who liked to lose control. She hid a lifetime of hurts and tried to kill all that was in her that betrayed her as womanly and weak. After suffering wounds of every kind, to her body, her pride, and her heart, she knew well how to process pain, but as Jaime worked her over with a skilled tongue, she began to learn for the first time how to process pleasure. It built slowly, starting from her core and flooding through her, until her entire body was pulsing with a need she had never felt before. Faster, stronger, more insistently the waves came, pushing her closer and closer to an unknown brink. She resisted crying out for as long as she could, balling up the bed sheets in shaking fists instead, but when Jaime’s mouth closed in on that most sensitive of spots, that secret part that set her fully aflame, she couldn’t fight it any longer. Her back arched of its own accord and she screamed as her body exploded in climax.

Then he was on top of her, leaning on his forearm and using his hand to guide his cock inside her. Brienne held her breath, expecting the worst, but there was only a strange sort of stretching sensation and then a moment’s pain as something inside her gave way. Looking down at her, Jaime didn’t miss the slight wince that crossed her face. “You alright?” he asked.

Brienne nodded and tentatively put her arms around his neck. It was all the encouragement he needed, and drawing back, he plunged into her deeply - again and again and again. Brienne wrapped her legs around him and met him at every thrust until with a groan, he came inside her.

They lay side by side for some time, catching their breath, silent but satisfied. Eventually, Jaime reached over with his good hand and brushed a short, blonde tendril from her forehead.

“How do you feel?” he asked her.

Brienne thought about it and then said, “Like… A woman.” After a pause, she asked him, “How do you feel?”

Jaime was still for a few moments, then quietly replied, “Like a man.”

Catching one another’s eye, Brienne and Jaime shared an easy smile, which quickly turned mischievous on Jaime’s part.

“Before you get too comfortable with your new found womanly graces, I should tell you - you looked actually quite ridiculous in that dress.”

“Is that so?” Brienne retorted. “No more ridiculous than you waving around a golden hand!”

Jaime laughed and said, “Gods, I know it!” Then with a slight shake of his head, “It was my father’s idea.”

At the mention of Tywin Lannister, they both grew more sober as they thought about all that had happened to bring them to this place. And all that was yet to come.

“What do we do now?” Brienne asked.

“What did Sansa say?” Jaime replied. “What is there to do but go on?” He turned to look at her, drinking in the details he had missed before; her strong features - not beautiful exactly but striking nonetheless, her long neck, the ripple of muscle in her wide shoulders, her pert breasts, taught middle, and firm ass - and felt his cock stir to life.

“Go on we shall. Tomorrow. Tonight, you’re staying right here with me.”

  
  
THE END


End file.
